


Silent Lullaby

by cuplette (orphan_account)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Tragedy, Gen, M/M, Tragedy, first fic for the fandom idk, i cried when i thought of this concept, mycroft and lestrade and molly and other character appearances, some ptsd for john
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-04
Updated: 2014-04-04
Packaged: 2018-01-18 02:54:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1412281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/cuplette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John, quickly, please Sherlock said, only what he said was nothing. Only huffs of panic and air came from his breath.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Silent Lullaby

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by wonderful tumblr user ive-caught-the-ugly !
> 
> Comments are welcomed!

It was quick.

John and Sherlock were to go to Mycroft, rather than Mycroft going to them.

“Feeling lazy, dear brother?” Sherlock asked through the phone. Only silence fell against the other end of the phone.

John was puzzled why Sherlock decided to see Mycroft. Either there was case that had interested Sherlock, which was rare nonetheless, or—John could not think of anything else. What more could they even talk about?

It was calm that day, though the sky was covered gray by clouds. Even when people are rushing before droplets pour down, they seemed passive to what was going on. Their dogs even walked frantically but to Sherlock, everything slowed down.

“John,” he muttered. “Let us head east.”

John furrowed his eyebrows. “But I thought—“

Too late, Sherlock was already grabbing his wrist.

They turned to run while John shouted to get Sherlock’s attention. Sherlock only ignored him. Their shoes stepped on various pebbles and puddles, brain controlling the muscles of their legs only to be disturbed by smoke and loud vibration of the earth.

They both fell painfully on ground, tiny specks of soot floating above them as they breathed smoke and dust in their lungs. They coughed and rushed to get up, Sherlock grabbing John’s wrists again to run back to safety.

Damn psychosomatic injuries.

John heard gunshots, yells, and bombs. Sherlock heard screaming and car alarms.

John limped to get up, Sherlock hurrying to lift him by the shoulder. His breath hitched.

_Was that fear?_

His heart thumped against his chest quickly, hearing the faintest _lub-dub_ by the heart that pumped blood through his veins.

_John, quickly, please_ Sherlock said, only what he said was nothing. Only huffs of panic and air came from his breath.

They slowly limped through the street, crowds of people rushing to get out of the place.

Sherlock was bumped. _THUD._ John was kicked. Sherlock swore. The crowd was getting bigger each moment they took a step. John grunted in pain, Sherlock gasped for breath. There was another loud _boom_.

Screeches were louder; feet stepped on their feet, the crowd multiplied faster. John yelled, and Sherlock gripped him tighter.

“Call the police!” someone called out. _Stupid bastard,_ Sherlock thought. _There are already police cars coming their way._

“Are you— _cough—_ fine John?” Sherlock said. John sprinted faster. _No, you’re not._

Crowds have pushed both of them. They separated.

“SHERLOCK!” John shouted.

“JOHN!” Sherlock shouted back.

_Boom_ once again.

Sherlock saw nothing but black, face sticky and warm.

_Sherlock, don’t sit there and wait._

_John is most definitely in danger._

He struggled to get up, springs of pain surprising him at his back, shoulders, and knees. It started to rain and soot has mixed disgustingly around him. His eyes were blurry, taking a while for him to adjust.

He then saw blood and flesh.

He touched his face. Blood smeared across his cheeks.

“JOHN!” Sherlock yelled. He turned his head around painfully, looking for John.

He accidentally kicked people on the ground, few muttering _ows_ and _ouch!_

He found a jumper.

An _ugly_ one.

He found John.

“John? John, I’m—I’m here. I’m here.” Sherlock stammered. He knelt beside him and took him by the arms. John groaned in pain and Sherlock panicked. He felt wet.

“No—no, John…”

He took off his scarf wrapped it around his waist, hopefully making him survive for a while until the paramedics arrive.

_I’m here for you, John._

John took Sherlock’s back tightly, moaning, “Don’t leave me, Sherlock.”

“Why—No, I won’t, John. Never, no.” Sherlock breathed. He hugged John back tightly.

It was getting quieter, or so Sherlock thought. He only heard John’s sobs and grunts of pain. He couldn’t say anything.

“They’re here…” John tried to breathe out. Indeed, he heard the sirens. _Finally,_ he thought. He separated from John slightly to look at him. His eyelids drooped, his breath hitching and blood dripped down from his lips.

“No, John, don’t leave, don’t sleep—no, John, no, please—“

“Sherlock,” John huffed. “Sherlock…”

Tears streamed down from his face. A sad smile formed his blood-painted lips.

“It’s going to be okay.”

Sherlock felt his own eyes sting. His throat knotted painfully as his lips trembled white with fear.

“No, John. It’s not. Ah—PARAMEDICS!” Sherlock pleaded. “PARAMEDICS! No, John, you won’t die. You won’t, okay?” Sherlock shivered. He tried lifting John, only to be stopped.

“Sherlock, it hurts.” John grunted.

“Then what should I do?” Sherlock said. His voice was small. Sherlock’s arms were weak, but struggled to hold John tightly.

“Sherlock…” John panted. “Just, just promise me…”

“Anything, John, anything.”

John struggled to find the words, his cheeks streaming with more tears.

“Please, don’t… don’t forget… us, okay?” John chuckled.

Sherlock’s lips trembled a smile, breathing out _yes, yes_.

He heard his name. “ _Sherlock…_ ”

“ _Goodnight, Sherlock._ ”

“John?”

No response.

“JOHN!” he shook.

“SHERLOCK!”

He didn’t care who was calling his name, he didn’t care about the lights flashing before his eyes. He didn’t care for the people coming in a rush.

‘No, no, John, please, you have to live, please…”

“Sherlock, please, we have to—“

“I don’t care, Mycroft! John has to live, he has to!”

“Sherlock… I’m sorry, but—“

“NO, NO!”

 

Mycroft saw a ten-year-old brother before him.

_“No! Redbeard!”_

_“Sherlock, please, I’m sorry—“_

_“REDBEARD!”_

Mycroft tried to hold Sherlock, his sobs aching Mycroft’s chest as his own eyes threaten to tear up, too. How broken is Sherlock?

They took John’s body away, and Sherlock struggled to get him aggressively. Mycroft bit his lip. His sobs and _JOHN!_ echoed in the street, his sleeve wet and arm painful.

He put his arms around Sherlock once more.

 

Sherlock looked at John. “Hey,” he whispered. He knows he won’t respond, but who would care now, anyway?

“Sherlock?” He heard.

Molly stood next to him and nodded.

In front of him were Harry, Mike Stamford, Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade and Scotland Yard, and other people he didn’t even know. Mycroft stood afar.

He stuttered. He would know what to say, he would know what to explain. He knows how much John has done.

How short.

“I—uh,” Sherlock stuttered. “I don’t have much to say, um.

“He has showed me what I was capable of. Not—not my deductions. He showed me that I am capable of emotion.” Sherlock’s eyes were wet. “He showed me that I am in fact, not a high functioning sociopath.

“He has showed me that I am human. I was able to feel. I felt other emotions rather than negativity.” His voice cracked. “I cared and I loved for the first time in a long time.

“Yes, I have cared for the bravest-“ tears fell down. “wisest, and kindest man named—” Sherlock closed his eyes. 

_I’m sorry._

“John Watson.”

_I’m sorry I haven’t told you._

_I’m sorry I haven’t showed you._

_I’m sorry I haven’t poured out my heart to you._

_I’m sorry and I love you._

Who was Sherlock kidding? John will never hear them.

**Author's Note:**

> i also have a tumblr: gaymycroft
> 
> this is also like my first fanfiction for the fandom so idk


End file.
